Broken Hearts, Mended Lives
by Angel' In H3ll
Summary: "Thank you, my dear." he said quietly. "You saved me, Christine Daáe. You may not believe it now, but you saved me, in all the ways a person can be saved." *ON HAITUS*
1. Of Carriage Rides and Cab Drivers

**A/N: Well I had this idea a while back and decided to give it a go. I hope you guys enjoy what I've written so far and please review. I'd love to know what you all think and please don't hesitate to offer suggestions, constructive criticism, etc. Thank you! Enjoy! :)**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

_**Broken Hearts, Mended Lives**_

_**Of Carriage Rides and Cab Drivers**_

"I'll be back."

And with that she left, and he sat there, with nothing but a ring and a promise to keep him afloat in the dark abyss of unending night. Not until she was drifting across the lake, slowly fading out of sight, did he manage to whisper, "I'll be waiting, _Mon Ange_."

**xXx**

Christine's vision was becoming blurry as her lungs and eyes were filled with smoke and debris. She could barely see Raoul, only an arm's length in front of her, as he pulled her from the smoldering Opera Populaire. Just as they were nearing the exit, Christine started to feel lightheaded. As Raoul felt her pace slowing behind him, he turned around to see Christine swaying on her feet and her eyes fluttering closed just before she collapsed. "Christine!" Just as Christine expected to meet the hard floor beneath her, she felt herself being scooped up into a pair of strong arms before succumbing to her dreams.

**xXx**

"_Erik!" she cried over and over, only to find her cries muffled by the roaring flames surrounding her and the panicked screams of hundreds of distressed patrons. _"Where is he? Why isn't he answering?"_ Christine refused to entertain the idea that anything bad had happened to her Angel. After what seemed to be hours of trying in vain to push past the wall of people kept getting in her way, she made it to the Prima Donna's dressing room. She immediately ran towards the full-length mirror at the back of the dressing room, not even bothering to close the door behind her, and began frantically searching for a switch of some sort that would open it, but alas, she had no luck. Christine had no choice but to break the mirror. Looking around the room for anything she could use, she came across a hairbrush sitting on the vanity. _"This will have to do.",_ she thought. She sprinted across the room, struck the glass with all her might, and stepped through into the darkness._

_Without anything to light her way, she would have to settle for running her hands along the damp walls of the dark tunnels and try her best to remember the route she had taken with Him many months ago. Christine was still wearing her stage costume and the sheer fabric did nothing to protect her from the damp cold. Her legs were aching and her bare feet raw from the trek they continued to make over the rough stones of the secret passageways down to the fifth cellar, but despite all the pain coursing through her body, she could not—would not—give up._

_Finally, she saw it: the underground lake…but no boat. Christine took a stabilizing breath, hiked up her skirts and dove into the frigid water. When she finally reached the other side, she began to call him, "Erik?", but no answer. She ran into the Louis-Philippe room, only to find it empty. The same with the library…and the music room…no sign of Erik. Christine headed towards the main room, expecting to find him sitting at his organ, composing._

"_An-", before she could call again, her breath caught in her throat. She walked into the main room, only to discover the whole of the large area up in flames. Christine couldn't believe her eyes. "No! Erik!" she cried. _"How could've the fire have spread down here?"_ she thought. The situation seemed impossible. _"Wait! No wonder he didn't answer! Surely he must've escaped before the fire could've spread…" _but as if to confirm her worst fears, there it laid, a white mask, slowly being devoured by the flames._

**xXx**

"Erik! Angel!" she screamed as her body jolted upright. She felt a pair of strong arms around her, but was too afraid to even open her eyes and see to whom they belonged. "Shhh, Christine, it's alright. I'm here." she heard a soothing voice softly whisper in her ear. And at that, Christine only cried harder, unable to choke back the sobs that now wracked her small frame.

It was the wrong voice. This was not the rich, velvety, baritone voice she so desperately needed to hear. These arms that held her now, were the wrong arms. These were too thin. These arms were not the thick, strong arms that could bend steel bars and crush through brick walls, if need be, to get to her. The chest she cried into was not the right chest. This was strong, but slender, suggesting the wiry, newly developing muscles of a boy, not the broad, chiseled chest of the one man she needed to cry into until she could cry no more. And now, these eyes looking into her own were the wrong eyes. These were a clear, light blue, like the Parisian skies. These were not the mysterious blue-green orbs that bore into her very soul. These eyes were not the cyan depths that always seemed to calm her, despite all the unspoken anger behind them and the never-healing pain they so desperately tried to hide beneath a sheet of ice.

This man, who held her now, whispering in her ear promises of a life in the light, was not the right man. He was not the right man, because that's exactly what he was: a man.

Christine needed an Angel.

**xXx**

Raoul felt the carriage slowly come to a halt outside the large de Chagny estate, but made no move to get out of the coach. Christine was a mess. She had cried so hard all the way from the opera house that he thought she must have run out of tears. Although her loud, choked sobs had long since faded into small, soft whimpers, the rapid heaving of her chest continued as her small, drained body struggled to drag in ragged, painful breaths.

Christine had started to hyperventilate a few times on the ride out of Paris to the country estate. Each time this happened, Raoul would tell her to try and take deep breaths, but each time he told her this, she would only respond, "I can't!"

Once Raoul asked her, "Christine, what do you mean you can't?" but he regretted asking the question upon hearing her answer, each word like a knife being driven straight into his heart.

"I can't…breathe…" she answered between sobs, "I…don't…want to…anymore! Not with…out him! I can't…breathe, Raoul! I can't…breathe…without…Erik!"

At this, Raoul felt a trail of hot liquid slowly burn its path down his cheek.

He made sure to wipe each tear before she could look up and notice he was shedding tears of his own.

He took care to control his breathing, making sure it was only her own sobs she was hearing.

Only hers. Not his.

**xXx**

"Monsieur?" the cabbie called after several minutes parked outside the large estate. He began to worry as the minutes passed and the Vicomte and his lady had not emerged from the coach. Finally, Raoul stepped out with a distraught young lady in his arms, clad in a rather disheveled wedding dress. Victor, however, made no comment.

"Yes, thank you, Victor. See to it that your services are well recompensed, will you?"

"Yes Sir. Thank you. Goodnight Monsieur."

"Thank you, Victor. Goodnight." He called over his shoulder as he made his way up the steps to the magnificent French doors opened upon the couple's arrival.

"Jacqueline, I would like a cup of tea sent up to Miss Daaé's room in five minutes, please." He instructed one of the many house servants before beginning the ascent up the massive staircase to Christine's room. _"It's a good thing she's so light…"_

Upon making it to Christine's room, he willed himself to make a few more staggering strides to the bed. He did not realize how drained his body had become from the night's events. Raoul gently placed the still sobbing Christine on the bed and briefly wondered if it was best to leave her there with her thoughts. As if to answer his question, Christine clung to the front of his shirt and whispered, "Stay with me?" so softly Raoul could barely hear her above his own breathing.

"Any thing you wish, Lotte." He replied as he eased his tired body onto the empty space beside her.

Upon hitting the lush surface of the mattress, the tea was all but forgotten.

As Raoul lay there, he couldn't help but think about what happened in the carriage, the way she screamed and cried for _Him_, each shout another crushing blow to his aching heart.

He was brought out of his musings when Christine stirred in her sleep, as if _His_ name, even unspoken, could cause some sort of reaction from her. "_It _does." Raoul thought bitterly, but he wouldn't ask about it now, not when she was finally resting. He decided it could wait until tomorrow, because after all, Tomorrow is another day.

Yet he couldn't fight the echo of _His _name on her lips as the nightmares claimed her. She had called for _Him_, the very man…no, the very _thing _she should fear, when she was afraid in her sleep.

She would never call for Raoul like that. And he knew it.

It always was _Him._

It would always be_…Him._

**xXx**

Christine turned over in her sleep and was startled when she bumped into something solid beside her. She was momentarily disoriented as her tired eyes snapped open and her gaze came to rest on Raoul's sleeping form, but all traces of confusion vanished as the events of last night flooded into her mind, and before she could stop her self, she let out a soft "Oh Erik…" Just then she felt Raoul stir and mentally cursed her lips. She closed her eyes and tried to feign sleep, but apparently to no avail.

"Christine?" he whispered as he gently shook her shoulder. He tried again a bit louder. "Christine, I know you're awake."

"Humph. Morning." She responded, not even bothering to hide her irritation. _"Why can't he just let me be?"_

"Christine, please, I wish to speak with you."

Reluctantly, she sat up and turned to face him. "Yes, Raoul?"

It was a few moments before he spoke; seemingly not sure of what exactly he was going to say. Then the silence was broken. "Christine, are you…happy? With your choice, I mean?"

Christine didn't like where this was going. "Yes, of course," _"No."_ "Why do you ask?"

"I see. It's just…well…when we were in the carriage, you kept calling for Him. Between your sobs, you were calling His name. And last night, in your sleep, you kept calling for your 'Poor, unhappy Erik'. You would scream that you needed your Angel." _"Angel, indeed," _he thought cynically.

"_That's only because I _do _need him." _"Raoul, I'm…I didn't…Raoul I didn't mean to-" she stammered.

"No, Forgive me. I should've known you would be traumatized after all that…that_ thing,_ that _monster_ put you through. No doubt you'd be confused. I just had to ask. To make sure."

Something in Christine snapped.

"How dare you call him such things? My Angel? A MONSTER? He may have done many awful things, but he has done some wonderful things too! Where were you, Raoul? Where were you when you when Papa died? I can tell you where Erik was; he was not off plundering a village or murdering innocents. He was here, _with me._ It was he who sung me to sleep, he who was my confidante, who took me under his wing. If it weren't for the man you call "monster", you would never have noticed this little chorus girl. I will have you know, _Monsieur Le Vicomte,_ that he is more of a man than you could ever hope to be! You're just like all the rest: You're afraid of the things you don't understand, when you don't even try to understand them at all! His ugliness is on the outside, but yours…yours is in!"

And with that she stormed out of the room without so much as a backward glance to the baffled Vicomte.

**xXx**

Christine ran down the stairs two at a time, almost tripping and falling once in her haste to get away. She didn't have an idea as to where she was going, but knew she needed to get away. She quickened her pace when she saw what she assumed to be an exit, leaving behind a trail of rather confused house servants.

She ran out the front door and past a blur of scenery until she could run no more. Her heart was pounding, her dancer's legs weak, and her vision blurred from her tears. Christine collapsed, but instead of hitting the hard ground, she found herself laying in something much softer.

She wiped her tears to take a look at what exactly she was now laying in.

It was a pile of hay.

She had run out the door, through the courtyard, several gardens, the riding field, and straight into the estate stables.

After the little fit she pitched in the house, Christine decided it best to wait out in the stables and clear her head before going back inside…and to Raoul. She got up and walked around to the entrance, reflecting on all that had transpired over the past few days.

"_Perhaps I shouldn't have yelled at Raoul like that. After all, it is out of his kindness that I had a warm place to stay last night. But how could he? After all Erik has done for me? He gave me everything and how did I repay him? He truly was my Angel…No, Christine. He is no Angel. Nor is he a ghost. He is a man."_

"A man I love…"

"What was that, Mademoiselle?" said a voice from the back of the stables.

Christine just about jumped out of her skin. "Oh, excuse me, Monsieur. I did not see you back there."

Just then, a stout little man with cheery eyes and a thick, greased moustache stepped out of the shadows.

"It's quite alright Miss…?"

"Daaé. Christine Daaé."

"Ah, the infamous Mademoiselle Daaé. Well I can assure you it is a pleasure to meet you. I am Victor, the cab driver." He said, gesturing to the horse reigns in hand.

"I'm very pleased to meet you as well Monsieur Victor."

"If you don't mind me asking, what could possibly trouble such a pretty young lady as yourself?"

"It's… It's nothing. Why do you ask?"

"Well, it seems to me as though you've been doin' a bit of crying. And I happened to be on my way in here when I saw you stormin' outta the house with the devil 'imself on yer tail."

"Oh, I see," she blushed, "Please excuse the intrusion, but…Victor, have you ever been in love?"

For one reason of another, this question did not surprise the old cabbie in the least.

"Well, I suppose I have, considerin' I've been married to the same woman for forty-two years now. It'll be forty-three now in March." His weathered face lit up and his stout frame stood a little taller at the statement.

"Congratulations to you both… but…what if you love someone whom you know you shouldn't?"

"Hmmm…well I suppose that does complicate things a bit, now doesn't it? Well, for what it's worth, you can't help who you fall in love with. I think anyone would agree to that, but forbidden or not, it's what you do with that love that counts."

"I'm afraid I'm not following you, Monsieur."

"What I mean to say is this: Don't ever take someone's love for granted. Lord knows love is the best thing you could possibly give a person. Doesn't matter if it's approved of or not, love is love. Plain and simple."

"One would think, but I'm afraid it's a bit more com-"

Victor cut her off as he leaned in closer and dropped his voice down to a whisper, reminding Christine of a child who is letting their companion in on a special secret.

"But just between you and me…any folks who'd be disapprovin' of the love between you and whoever-he-may-be can all go to the Devil because it really isn't any of their personal business, now is it?"

Christine couldn't help but let out a small giggle at the boldness of her new friend's words. "No, I suppose it isn't."

"Now take your young Vicomte, for example." He continued. "His brother's been givin' him the hardest time about wantin' to marry a chorus girl fresh outta-" He stopped mid-sentence at the way he saw the poor girl's face fall at the mention of the Vicomte. "Pardon me, Miss Christine, but something tells me you weren't referring to Monsieur de Chagny at all, now were ya?"

When Christine did not answer, he saw it fit to continue the conversation on his own. "What's this young man's name, Christine?"

Silence.

"Aaw, you know you can tell me. But if it'll set your little heart at ease, I won't tell another livin' soul, cross my heart an' hope to die." He finished with a rather extravagant show of the old gesture she herself would make as a child wanting to be let in on a secret.

After several moments she finally spoke, although so quietly one could mistake it for the wind. "Erik…His name is Erik."

"Ah, I see. And this Erik fellow is from the Opéra as well?"

"I suppose you could say that…" she tried not to giggle at the irony.

"Well, Miss Daaé, it seems to me as though you ought to be reunited with your young man, since I highly doubt he was brought to the estate along with yourself and the Vicomte, hmm?"

"Oh, Victor, I only wish…but how? Surely he must not be at the Opéra anymore, what with the fire?"

"Shush now, Missy. We'll have none of that! You just get yourself to your young man and let Old Victor worry about all the particulars! You'll know where to look, Christine, just follow your feet!"

"But what of Raoul? I cannot just leave him?"

"Listen here, Christine. I have known your Sir Vicomte since he was but a boy going on and on about the little girl in the red scarf, and I know, that love her as he may, he only wants that little girl to be happy as she was in those summers by the sea. You go on and take Aleen over there, she's all saddled up an' ready to go for you, and I'll worry about Monsieur le Vicomte."

And at that Christine couldn't help but throw her arms around her new friend. "Oh! Thank you Victor!"

"Glad to help, my dear. Glad to help. Now, best be on yer way, not a moment to lose!"

Christine rushed off to the appointed horse; a crème colored mare, and was rushing out of the stables when she heard Victor call behind her. "And Christine? The best of luck to you both. I do hope you find your young man."

He was rewarded with a dazzling, genuine smile, her first in what seemed to be a very long time.

**A/N: Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!**


	2. Those Damn Voices

**A/N:**** TADA! Here it is! My sincerest apologies to anyone kept waiting. For some reason, this chapter was being a pain in the butt to write. I read through the first chapter a while after posting and was like "Well…This is stupid." So I guess my excuse is that I had to go back and answer all my own questions about my own story (yes, I realize how pathetic that sounds) before I could answer yours.**

**I would like to dedicate this chapter to my 2 reviewers! (Seriously? 2? I know you guys can do better than that. ;p)**

**DesireeBoils: I didn't really think Christine was all that crazy when I wrote the last chapter, but after reading your review I realized that Erik and Christine would be essentially crazy without each other, so needless to say…they are, in fact, a little crazy. (Touch of Leroux Erik…pretty self-explanatory. ;p)**

**Alley Sajrob and Potato: I cannot even express to you how great your review made me feel! You really motivated me to get off my arse and write those last few sentences! So sorry to keep you waiting…please don't Punjab me! (I'd prefer you have Erik do it ;D)**

**Well, I guess I'll stop rambling now…**

**Swirly cape hugs to everyone!**

** ~'Angel' In H3ll**

**Oh wait! Almost forgot!**

**Disclaimer:**** Phantom of the Opera belongs to many people. I am not one of them.**

_**xXx**_

The catacombs were silent.

The ever-present notes of Anger, Sorrow, Pain, Hate…Love…were brought to a piercing silence.

The Anger still burned. The Sorrow still ached. The Pain still destroyed. The Hate still seethed. The Love still consumed, and the Loss… The Loss slowly killed.

But these notes were silenced, never again to burst forth from screaming pipes or glide across the plains of ivory and plateaus of worn ebony. Nor would they dance along the length of bow and leap from string to weeping string.

That is, until _She _returned.

"_And when will that be, Erik? Next week? Next month? Or perhaps in the Next Life? No. For the Angel's of Heaven wouldn't dare to look upon the Angel of Hell." _taunted the chafing voices of his mind.

"No more!" he roared. "Leave me alone, damn you!"

But they persisted, _"Alone, Erik? Aren't you tired of being alone? You've lived alone, and you'll die alone. Not even _She_ could change that."_

"Enough!" the sounds of the mocking voices were replaced with that of shattering crystal as yet another glass met the stone walls of the Underground Lair. It was a good thing he began to make a habit of keeping a few extra glasses by the Brandy, not that he ever had company or was expecting any, but this became something of a habit whenever his temper flared up. Normally, he would pound out his anger and frustrations on the massive organ against the wall of the main room or relieve the pounding of his head by allowing the bitter feelings to flow through his arms, down to the quill he held between thumb and index, and finally onto the paper as angry red marks strewn across the page. His hands ached with the need to play, his throat with the need to sing. His head pounded to the point he thought it would burst if he did not allow the piling notes to escape him through his music, but he could not – would not- play, not without his Muse, his Life, his Love, his Christine.

And so, the Brandy would have to do, for now.

_**xXx**_

The sound of the horse's hooves beating against the cobblestoned streets sounded far off in the distance rather than directly under her. The rapid pounding of Christine's heart roared in her head like the booming of thunder in the distance, signaling the approaching storm. Finally, the Opera Populaire, now reduced to a smoldering pile of rubble, lay just ahead. She urged the horse onward and around the building to the entrance on the Rue Scribe side to which Erik had given her the key.

Christine jumped off the horse and ran to the gate. She fumbled with the key before finally sticking it in the lock. She said a quick silent prayer that Erik hadn't switched the lock on her, and gave the key a quarter turn. He had.

Christine hopped back on the horse and rode off to the front entrance of the theatre. As soon as she arrived, she jumped off the horse, ran up the steps and inside.

_**xXx**_

Christine couldn't contain a small gasp upon seeing the inside of the magnificent opera house. The polished marble floors were covered in ash and the grand staircase in the main lobby was collapsed into a smoldering heap of rubble. The golden statues were now blackened with suit. The walls were scorched. As she looked up, she could see the rising smoke through the hole in the ceiling, dancing up to the clouds. The polished marble floors were covered in ash. Each step Christine took would leave behind another imprint of a small, slippered foot, reminding her of her walks along the sandy coastline with her dear papa. The ballet dormitories were a mess. Christine felt a tear burn its path down a pallid cheek at the sight of it all. Where she and little Meg Giry would sit gossiping about the infamous Opera Ghost while having there hair brushed by another young ballet tart, was now the ashen remnants of a simple vanity, its mirror blackened by smoke. _"The Mirror!" _Christine was reminded of what she came for.

She rushed down the hallway to the last door on the left and opened the door, fearing the worst. Her old dressing room was in surprisingly good condition. Aside from being a bit singed from the heat of the fire, everything was intact. Her fingers searched the frame desperately for some kind of depression in the golden carvings or a hidden switch of some sort that might activate the pivot mechanism Erik had told her about. She clawed at the frame until her nails broke and her fingers bled but the effort was futile. Remembering her dream, she ran to the vanity on the opposite end of the room and opened the drawer. A hairbrush. _"Oh, thank you, God!"_ Hairbrush in hand, Christine once again sprinted to the back of the room and struck the mirror repeatedly. By the time she was able to step through, her hands and arms were cut and embedded with shards of glass. Christine, however, brushed the pain aside and focused on the task at hand. Since there was nothing to light the way, she would have to settle for keeping a hand on the wall and taking small, careful steps. _"This is getting all too familiar," _she thought.

_**xXx**_

Erik sat there, glass in his hand, staring at the same piece of parchment he'd been staring at for the past two hours.

He couldn't do it. For the first time his miserable life, he didn't know what to write. He hade the notes in his head, the quill in his hand, and the paper in his lap. Surely he had all he needed to create his music?

No. He did not have the inspiration in his heart. Nor would he, ever again. She wasn't coming back.

"Fool! What were you thinking to even entertain the idea that she would ever come back to you?"

The voices in his head were being particularly brutal today.

"She said she would." was the only reply he could come up with, for it was the one thing he had been telling himself all night long. It was rehearsed, and so, after repeating it so many times in his head, it soon became the only thing to come out of his mouth.

"She lied to, your 'little Delilah'. Was that not what you referred to her as, Erik? What makes you think you can believe her now?"

"She said she would. She will return to me, my Chri- she said she would. She said she would."

"If you are so certain she will return, why did she ever leave?"

Silence.

_**xXx**_

_A few more steps. Just a few more steps. A few more steps and I will arrive at the portcullis. I will call for Erik. He will answer. He will. I will talk to him. What will I say? I have plenty of time to think of that. I will arrive, and I will know what to say. I will say it, and he will listen. He won't be angry. He won't be hurt. He won't cry._

_I won't cry._

_He will smile. He will tell me that all is forgiven. I know that my Erik will forgive me for hurting him. Ever since I was a child, and he an angel, he forgave me when I would miss a note. He forgave me when my pitch was off. He always forgave me._

_I always hurt him…_

_He will forgive me. He will. He will…_

_I will run to him. He will embrace me. I will hold him close. I won't let go._

"_Raoul, we'll be parted forever. He won't let me go."_

_He will embrace me. He will tell me that he loves me. I will tell him that I love..._

_Just a few more steps._

Christine had arrived. For some reason, she felt a little surprised to see the lair almost as it had been when she and Raoul had fled from it the night before. Or was that two nights ago? No matter how long ago that night may seem, every detail was still burned in her mind. The gate that Raoul had been bound to was still there. The boat was in place. The organ was ever-present. There were few changes, changes that anyone else could easily overlook. Christine noticed. The floor was littered with broken glass. Some candles were unlit. It was quiet.

It was empty.

"Erik!"

_**xXx**_

"Erik!"

Damned voices.

"Erik!"

A pair of pale green eyes snapped open. That voice. It was too perfect. Not even the mind of he who had trained it for years could produce such a flawless replica.

Christine!

Without a moments hesitation Erik sprung up from the piano bench and ran into the main room. Upon arriving at the shore it took him a few moments for his eyes to take in the sight before him and then a few more to question his sanity for the umpteenth time that day-and it wasn't even past noon yet.

_I'm hallucinating. I'm hallucina-_

"Erik."

_Well, I might as well make the most of it..._

_**xXx**_

Just as Christine sucked in another lungful of air, Erik dashed around the corner in a very uncharacteristic manner. What was she breathing in for? Was she about to scream? She didn't remember. She didn't care. Whatever she had building up in her throat died down to the soft whisper of a single word, a prayer upon her lips.

"Erik."

"Hello, Christine. Lovely day, isn't it?"

Christine was confused.

"Yes, I suppose it is, but-"

"Yes. It is not as cold as it has been, of late. Perhaps we could take a stroll in the park. Would you like that, my Christine? Erik would like that very much. He could take his Christine out to the park on a nice day, just like any normal man."

"Erik?"

Christine was now more worried than confused, but Erik continued.

"We could go for a stroll, and then go out to lunch. Would you like that, Christine? You will have to think of a good place to eat, as this old dog hasn't had a day out in quite some time, as I'm sure you can imagine." he chucked wryly. There were few occasions when Christine had heard him laugh. It was rich and melodious. It floated through the air and wrapped you in its warmth like a summer breeze.

This was nothing like those times.

"Perhaps, after lunch we might visit a few shops before returning. Christine would like that, wouldn't you, my dear? Yes, Erik would like that as well. Erik loves to buy things for his Christine. Nice things. Erik likes to see Christine happy. Erik would like to make her happy. Happy Christine. Happy, Happy..."

"Erik?" she tried again.

"No, I'm afraid not, my dear. No Happy Erik. Not without Christine."

"Erik, what do you mean? I'm here."

"No. You are not. Not really...I've had enough now. Go away now. You've had your fun."

"Erik, it's me! I'm here!"

"GO!" he roared.

"Erik! Listen to me! Look at me, Erik! I am here! With you!"

Erik sucked in a shuddering breath and Christine prepared herself for the thunderous roar she knew would follow. What came out of his mouth next made Christine want to cry more than any mighty shout could.

"Leave. Please, please just leave."

And with that soft whisper, young Christine Daáe's heart was broken, her tears were shed, and her mind was set.


	3. Prologue to a Kiss

**A/N:**** Hello all! First of all I'd like to say that I'm so so so so so sorry for taking forever to update. As im sure you all know, life does tend to interfere and I have a million and one excuses ready which I'm sure that none of you want to hear. I dedicate this chapter to all my lovely reviewers! You guys are what keep this story afloat and I'd like to remind all of you following silently –glares- NOT TO BE SHY! The worst you could possibly do is improve this story! So read, review and ENJOY!**

**~Angel In H3ll**

_**Broken Hearts, Mended Lives**_

_**Chapter 3: Prologue to a Kiss**_

Left.

Then right.

One step at a time.

Forward, always forward.

Each foot hit the cold, hard ground with a thud of resounding determination.

In.

And out.

In...

Each shallow breath echoed around them, whispers of heartbreak, hisses of pain. She was trembling, he was so still. Still, she continued. Continued walking, continued breathing.

Left...and right.

In...Then out.

He watched her. He watched her laugh, and he watched her cry. He watched her dance, and then watched her sing. He watched her grow. He watched her soar.

And now he watched her walk. He watched her as she placed one small, dainty foot in front of the other.

He watched her face fall as he told her to leave. He stood there, watching, waiting for her to vanish, and the pain to take her place. But as he watched, she only came closer.

She met his eyes, and he saw her.

She reached out a delicate hand and although he flinched at first, he felt her.

He felt her.

"Chri- Christine?" An unnamed emotion flickered across jade green eyes, but it was gone before she could place it.

"I'm here, Erik…I'm back." A small, reassuring smile graced her full, pink lips.

"Why?" Whatever she saw in his eyes just a moment ago was now replaced with cold indifference.

It took Christine a moment to answer, not only because she didn't know what to say, but also because his icy gaze was so unnerving. She felt as though he could see straight through her and her words.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, lets see shall we? Lets start with 'Why are you here?' From there, I think we'll explore the question 'Why did you leave?' And now I will ask, 'Why did you return?' No answer? Why do you love him? Why did you betray me? Hm? Now answer me this: 'Why did I take pity on that little girl that night in the chapel?' Why do I love you? And why are you so breathtakingly beautiful in that torn, ragged, dress? Why, Christine, why? Why do you torture me so?"

Another few moments ticked by as she stood there, pondering these things. So many questions being hurled at her, and so few of them she could answer. He continued to stare with the same icy calm as though he was not fighting to control his breathing only moments ago. Finally, she spoke.

"I am here because I need you. I left because I was scared, and I came back because I said that I would. Raoul is my best friend. He was gentle and safe. I do not know why you chose to comfort me all those years ago, but I'm so happy you did. I do not know why you love me, but I know that it scares me and excites me and it terrifies me and soothes me. It hurts me and it breaks me and it helps me through the day. And I'm sorry, Erik, but you torture me as well."

"You left, Christine. Yes, you promised to return, but then you left. What I want to know is why? Why did you leave if you knew you'd return, or rather why you promised such a thing when you were planning to leave anyway?"

"I had to be sure, Erik. How could I choose here? With Raoul at your mercy and you screaming at me to choose? How could I choose here, in this opera house? Here where I first heard you and here where I first saw you and here where you filled my thoughts every moment of every day? I needed to escape here, Erik, for how can I possibly think of something so important as this when my mind is filled with thoughts of you and your voice and your music? Yes, I left. I left because I had to be able to think outside of this opera house where everything is you. And you say I torture you? For so long, I used to lie in my bed and imagine how wonderful life would be if my angel were a man, a real, living, breathing man. A man I could hold and touch and love. But these were always fantasies. Surely, it must have been a sin to love an angel? Erik, you invoked feelings in me than no good, Christian girl should…should ever think about feeling. And then one day, you were real. You were there and tangible and so devastatingly handsome, and—"

A low, dry chuckle filled the room. "Do not mock me, Christine."

"I'm not!" She said this with such intensity that he was almost convinced.

"You were there, Erik. And I could touch you and I could see you and suddenly I was so frightened" His hand flew instinctively to his face.

"Damn it, Erik, not of your face! You were so passionate, so…_seductive_. Everything about you was power, and it was power over my soul! You looked at me, and you burned me! You spoke to me and I was yours. This is what scared me. And then there was Raoul, gentle, safe, kind Raoul. He was warm and predictable and the summers by the sea. He was memories of my papa and fairytales and when life was simple, and he was what I was supposed to have wanted in a husband. You were fire and then ice and passion and heat and you made me feel things that I had never felt before and this also scared me. That is the reason I left, Erik. But the reason I returned is not only because I promised that I would. Yes, I planned to come back, eventually. After I had time to think outside of this place where you were in every fiber of every brick in these walls, I planned to return and to make my decision, but I did not expect to return so soon. You see, Erik, I left because I needed to get away from here and from you, but I came back because I realized that I didn't want that. I couldn't live like that. Yes, Erik-I couldn't live without you. I didn't want to. I didn't know it yet, but it had already been decided. I didn't need to decide, I never had a choice in the matter. Since you first saw me, and I first heard you, my heart-my soul-were yours. It was inevitable.

She couldn't help but laugh. "'Fate links thee to me forever and a day.' It's true, Erik. I was bound to love you, but you know what? I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Say it."

She looked into his eyes, the most beautiful blue Christine had ever seen. Funny, she thought, she could've sworn they were green a minute ago.

"I…"

She looked down to his chest, strong and powerful, now quaking with each ragged breath. Her gaze traveled down to his hands, those hands that had played for her, held her, and caressed her so confidently were now white knuckled fists, also shaking, but to a different rhythm.

"Christine…please…"

Christine dragged her eyes up to meet his and it hit her. It wasn't hard to say anymore, just looking in his eyes, for now she wasn't a mortal and he and angel. She wasn't a pupil and he her maestro. She wasn't a chorus girl and he wasn't a ghost. Now there was only Christine, and her Erik.

"I love you! I love you, Erik, I do! I do! I love you! I…I love you."

For a moment Christine wondered if he even heard her. The infamous Opera Ghost, stern teacher and divine Angel of Music now stood before young Christine Daáe, gaping like a fish.

As Erik stood there staring at a point only he could see, Christine took three tentative steps…then two larger deliberate ones and brushed her lips to his, but just as he started to react to her kiss, she pulled away, knocked off the mask…and kissed him with all the intensity of _Don Juan Triumphant_ itself.

After a few blissful moments, they pulled apart and sucked in the breaths that they had forgotten to take.

As Erik pulled Christine-_His Christine! - _Into his arms, he heard his name on her lips, the sweetest prayer he'd ever heard.

"Erik?"

"Hmm?"

"My other reason…for returning, I mean…is that…" he could almost hear her flush in her voice. "I just had to know…to find…what in the world gives the ground the right to spin and crumble beneath me. And…I just want you to know…it was always you."

And then Erik began to cry. But this time, for once, he did not cry for loneliness, and he didn't cry alone. His Christine, his lamb and his lioness, also shed her tears of joy.

For a few more moments, of a few more years, Erik held his Christine, and Christine her Erik, because what they say is true; the dark isn't half as frightening if you only have someone to hold on to.

"Thank you, my dear."

"For what, Erik?"

"For…for being you. You saved me, Christine. You may not believe it now, but you did save me, in all the ways a person can be saved. And you know, I just realized that I forgot to say, 'I love you too, Christine, Mon Ange…Forever and a day.'"


End file.
